Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/137

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On their majestic line!—My sons! my sons! —Now is all else forgotten!—I had once A babe that in the early spring-time lay Sickening upon my bosom, till at last, When earth's young flowers were opening to the sun, Death sunk on his meek eyelid, and I deem'd All sorrow light to mine!— But now the fate Of all my children seems to brood above me In the dark thunder-clouds!—Oh! I have power And voice unfaltering now to speak my prayer And my last lingering hope, that thou shouldst win The father to relent, to save his sons!

By yielding up the city?

Rather say By meeting that which gathers close upon us Perchance one day the sooner!—Is 't not so? Must we not yield at last?—How long shall man Array his single breast against disease, And famine, and the sword?

How long?—While he, Who shadows forth his power more gloriously